


Countdown

by WhirlyBot



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Government Conspiracy, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn, but like there’s more plot than angsty teen romance i swear, i mean this is stranger things duh, like. reaaaaaallly slow burn, this is gonna get long, this is the eighties and no one knows how to handle polyamory/bisexuality: by everyone, trauma and how not to deal with it: by steve harrington
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-01-26 12:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12556944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhirlyBot/pseuds/WhirlyBot
Summary: If he pretends that he can put his life on hold long enough, he'll start believing it. And he desperately needs something to believe in again.He's fine, honestly. He's fine and cool and chill.Steve Harrington is so fucking chill.Or: How a teenage boy learns to balance love, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and the fact that he’s just uncovered the biggest secret Hawkins has left.





	1. o n e

**Year [Redacted], Location B**

_"Sir?"_

_"Hm? Oh, yes, do come in. Sit down, I'll send Cynthia for coffee."_

_"I'm not allowed, sir."_

_"More's the pity. What is your name, young man?"_

_"With all due respect, I would rather not say. Sir."_

_"Clever boy. You were sent by my... colleague Dr. Rembrandt, yes?"_

_"That is correct, sir."_

_"Ah. Well, I suppose we might as well get it over with. What has the man insisted upon now?"_

_"Sir, the subject, 001, is reacting positively to the pharmaceutical combination. Dr. Rembrandt would like permission to increase dosage."_

_"In which section?"_

_"A–All of them, sir."_

_"I see."_

_"..."_

_"..."_

_"S–Sir?"_

_"If Dr. Rembrandt is so adamant, then he is more than welcome to pay me a visit himself."_

_"Sir–"_

_"Tell the good doctor that his ludicrous plan has been tolerated so far only because of his success in influencing the subject's abilities. If his experiment damages our first successful development in this project, he must understand that the consequences will be dire, for both him and his little assistants."_

_"..."_

_"Do I make myself clear?"_

_"I will inform him of your decision, sir."_

_"Very good. I look forward to his inevitable visit."_

_"Shall I tell him that as well, sir?"_

_"Ha! If you would be so kind as to indulge my musings. It won't help or hurt the situation, unlike his hackneyed plans."_

_"...Yes, sir."_

—

"–disgrace to the work ethic of billions!"

Steve Harrington startles awake to find his english teacher inches from his face, looking as if he'd very much like to reach into Steve's ears and pull his brain out the same way.

"Sorry, sorry, Mr. O," he mutters. 

"As you should be," Mr. O says, and launches into another rant, presumably just as tedious as the one Steve wasn't awake for.

By the time he's finished, Steve's eyes have glazed over again.

The bell snaps him out of the trance, and he gathers up his things, ignoring the glances from his tittering classmates.

They aren't making fun of him, he knows. He's still popular, one thing he hasn't lost. They're just assuming he'll laugh with them.

The old Steve would have, certainly. But now he stays quiet and walks out quickly.

The hallway is too bright. He'd never noticed how bright it was, almost glaring. He twirls the dial and pops open his locker, shoving a textbook inside and pulling out another, stuffing it in his backpack.

 _We're a bit like well-oiled machines,_ he thinks ruefully.

Steve closes his locker and comes face to face with Nancy Wheeler.

Her hair is curlier than usual, and she's wearing that sweater and skirt outfit he's always liked. 

He sternly reminds himself to stop thinking about his ex-girlfriend and current best friend that way.

"So, I walked past Carol talking about your lack of work ethic? And cackling like a hyena, of course, but then again–"

"It's Carol," they say in unison. Steve shakes his head.

"I slept in english."

Nancy winces. "I had O last year. That's, like, his one trigger. Good job."

He groans and hits his head against the cold metal.

"Don't dwell on it too much, though. Oh, I forgot! We're going to Marion's party this weekend, right?" Nancy says it with a smile, like the last party they went to didn't end with stains and tears and Steve's heart shattering into tiny, pathetic pieces.

_It's been six months. Get over it._

"Obviously," he scoffs. "You bringing Jonathan?" 

She gives him a _look._

"Good. Didn't feel like wasting gas on you anyway." 

"Oh, shut up." She shoves him playfully. "See you there, Steve Harrington."

"Be safe, Nancy Wheeler." 

She flashes him a quick smile and dashes off.

 _Be safe_ is their new goodbye. For all of them, now. After what they've been through, a farewell is too permanent.

The bell shrieks and he swears, booking it down the hall.

 

His luck has been less than stellar lately, and despite his best efforts, Steve rushes into math two minutes late.

"You're _late,_ Mr. Harrington," smarmy Mrs. Wilkinson says in her stupid smarmy voice.

"I'm well aware that I'm late, ma'am." 

"Then why _are_ you late?"

"I don't know why I'm late," he snaps. Maybe if she stopped wasting his time yapping about how _late_ he was, class would continue normally and she wouldn't gripe about him slowing down the other students' learning. 

Steve slides into his seat and puts his head in his hands. The sophomores around him giggle. Algebra II really blows. 

Mrs. Wilkinson sighs. "Pass this back to him," she murmurs, handing a worksheet to a prim girl in the front. "It's just a review," she says louder, "so you shouldn't have any trouble."

There's a bit too much emphasis on the _shouldn't_ to be a coincidence. Steve's ego stings at the jab. She knows damn well how difficult math is for him.

Steve reaches for the handout reluctantly. The boy directly in front of him is a freshman, for God's sake. He grits his teeth and looks down at the paper.

He knows he isn't stupid. He _isn't_. He just got a little off track freshman year with that first taste of high school popularity, and never quite got back on. It wasn't for lack of caring or trying, either. But with the demons and drama and whatnot, it's a little hard to make schoolwork his top priority.

He bites his lip and fiddles with his pencil. He resists the urge to mutter the problem out loud. It helps him, but he's been snapped at for it before. The numbers swim before his eyes and he can't focus, so he settles for glancing around at the other, younger, infinitely more successful students.

Academically, anyway. He'd smoke them all in baseball. 

"Do you want to copy mine?" The girl next to him whispers. They've made a terrible habit of this. She'll arrange her work just so, and Steve scrapes by in the class.

He shouldn't, and he's fully aware of this. Nancy tells him and his parents tell him. If he doesn't start taking control of his own schoolwork, nothing will change.

"Sure," he says, and she slides the paper to where he can see it.

He doesn't bother feeling guilty about it. Nothing is going to change. Not for him.

This girl probably has a crush on him. Most do. Once upon a time, Steve would have immediately seized the opportunity to fool around with this pretty homework-supplier. That Steve was a narcissistic asshole who didn't respect women.

He'd like to think he's getting better at the whole respecting women bit. Being less of an asshole is a work in progress.

And since he's not that Steve anymore, he doesn't throw her a wink or a smirk. He just says "thank you" and copies the answers, throwing in a few mistakes to make it look realistic. 

From Mrs. Wilkinson's glare, he knows she's onto him, and resigns himself to a zero or a missing for his grade. 

When the bell rings, he shoves his paper into the period five box and heads to lunch.

 

He only spends five minutes in the cafeteria to pile some shitty mystery meat onto his plate, then turns right back around and goes outside to his car.

There's no way in hell he'll deign to sit by Tommy and Carol, and Nancy skips with her boyfriend as usual. They've invited him several times, but he's got another group of friends to enjoy the hour with.

By the time he reaches his car, there are already six middle schoolers perched on the roof. 

"Steve!" Dustin yells, waving frantically.

"Don't dent my car, dipshits!" He calls back. 

"I could fix it if they did," El says when he gets a bit closer. 

After an initial rough patch, dealing with culture shock and joining late in the year combined, "Jane" had settled into school just fine. Her speech and expressiveness has improved drastically, and Steve couldn't be prouder of the girl. She was an enthusiastic member of the AV club alongside her little boyfriend. At least _that_ love had lasted. 

Steve narrows his eyes at her, and she mirrors his expression. "One: I don't want any damage, fixable or not. Two: Mike would probably have a heart attack if you exerted yourself."

To his chagrin, Mike just shrugs. "I have faith in her."

Steve rolls his eyes and sits on the hood. "You're not really helping my case, pal." He takes a bite of food and shudders. "I'm going to a party with Nance and Jonathan this weekend, so you kids'll have to entertain yourselves."

"Oh, no, Steve, please no," Max says dryly. "Whatever shall we do? Truly, our world darkens without you." Lucas snorts beside her.

Steve flips her off. "Seriously, guys, don't go off monster hunting without me. That's our _thing._ At this point leaving me out would just be insulting."

"Not to mention Nancy would murder you," Lucas says.

"That too." Steve admits grudgingly.

"We promise," Will chirps through a mouthful of chips. 

"For someone who eats like you do, I'm surprised you're not a blimp," Max says, looking wistful. "I wish I could eat like that without gaining anything."

Lucas nudges her. "Stop that."

Steve winces internally. Max has been subtly self-deprecating more and more, to the point where everyone has noticed. Nancy didn't talk like that often in their relationship, but when she did it was awful for the both of them. He doesn't want Max to start having body issues so young. Or at all, actually. None of these kids deserve to go through any more trouble, ever. 

Will blushes. "I don't eat that much junk. Mom was rushing to work this morning and I grabbed the first thing I saw."

"Will is tiny and we love him," Dustin says. "Love that a mild breeze could snap him in half. Love that." 

Will punches Dustin on the shoulder, who laughs so hard he wheezes.

Steve is chuckling too. These kids are more awesome than 90% of the people he's surrounded with every day. He sees so clearly that Mike is reflected in his older sister. He fell for what he saw behind Nancy's reserved exterior. He recognized the bright, wild brilliance that was begging to be unleashed, to make a real, genuine connection with someone.

He just wasn't the right person for it.

"Really, though, sorry I can't make it," Steve apologizes. "I promise all the other Saturdays will be our days."

"That's okay," Mike assures him. "We were planning on finally starting a campaign with El and Max. You can roll a character next week if you want."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, but I'm down," Steve agrees.

The boys cheer.

Steve finishes his suspiciously green food and downs the rest of his soda. "Alright, kiddos, bell should be ringing soon," he says. "Off you go." 

They gripe and groan and roll their eyes, but slide off the roof anyway.

"Be safe," he yells after them.

"Be safe," they chorus back.

Steve watches them leave, and prepares to go back inside. Last period is marine science. 

One period. That's it. No big deal. It's just fifty-five minutes.

Fifty five whole minutes.

"Fuck," he growls, and gets into his car.

He drives around blasting angry music until he's moments away from empty, then fills up at the nearest station and heads home so he can be prepared to answer the phone before his parents do when the school inevitably calls. 

He does a pretty killer impression of his father.

Once he's home, Steve flips on the TV just so there's something other than silence. He didn't mind silence before. There were a lot of things he didn't mind before.

But that was _before._

He makes himself a grilled cheese–because he's still hungry after the school slop, damnit–and manages to turn on the gas burner without having a panic attack about lighters and explosions and alien viscera in the dark. 

So that's progress, probably.

Steve hasn't told anyone about the panic attacks, or the nightmares, or the time he locked himself in a janitor's closet and hyperventilated because his science teacher showed them a video on giant squid. There's no reason to. He's being a big baby. The _kids_ are handling it a lot better than he is.

He flops onto the couch with his sandwich and zones out until the phone rings. He answers the school's complaint about this being his second ditched class this week and then hangs up. 

If he pretends that he can put his life on hold long enough, he'll start believing it. And he desperately needs something to believe in again.

He's fine, honestly. He's fine and cool and chill.

Steve Harrington is so fucking chill.


	2. t w o

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy wraps her arms around both their shoulders and shimmies down, forcing them to do the same. They all laugh at how silly this situation is, three teenagers just living life, dancing and being normal.
> 
> It's the best kind of lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: panic attack, flashbacks, and unintentional self-harm in the last half of the chapter

**Year [Redacted], Location A**

_"Sir, I've just returned from... where you've sent me. I'm afraid I have unfortunate news."_

_"So, my esteemed colleague has denied my request to increase dosage."_

_"Yes, sir. I'm very sorry."_

_"He has read my research?"_

_"He says so, sir."_

_"Then he knows I will not cause or allow fault in this endeavor. So why, pray tell, does he insist on refusing me the resources and approval to make this possible?"_

_"I don't have an answer for you, sir."_

_"Well, then. I suppose it can't be helped."_

_"I suppose not, sir."_

_"...Do it anyway."_

_"Sir!"_

_"I am aware of my colleague's tactics. He relies too heavily on fear, and thus makes himself predictable. No doubt he has threatened you on my behalf."_

_"...."_

_"Am I correct in assuming this?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"You have no reason to worry. My plan will not fail. Do you trust me?"_

_"You know I don't, sir."_

_"Very good. Now, run along to the lab and tell them that we are proceeding as planned."_

_"Of course, sir."_

_"And check in on the subject while you're at it."_

_"..."_

_"Is there a problem?"_

_"No, sir. But... you are aware of my trepidation when in the presence of the subject. He–apologies, it–unnerves me."_

_"There's no need for such caution. 001 wouldn't hurt a hair on your head unless I ordered it to."_

—

Steve rushes down the stairs, still running a comb through his hair. "I'm leaving now, Dad!"

"Have fun, but don't come home smelling like alcohol," Mr. Harrington calls out from where he's sitting at the dining table, eyes glued to his paperwork. "And be home and in bed before your mother gets back."

"You got it," Steve replies, slipping out the door and jogging to his car. 

His parents have always been very lenient with him. He's allowed to smoke in the house–though he's only tried it twice–as long as he keeps the window open. They don't mind if he buys condoms. His mom works the night shift, so curfew on weekends is thirty minutes before she gets home, usually two in the morning.

Given their occupations, he's surprised they're not more rigid. His dad's the COO of the hospital and his mother is a surgeon, so Steve has always been used to nice things.

 _Lucky_ is the nice term. _Spoiled_ is what people call him behind his back.

But he doesn't mind, not really. Spoiled is what got him a car before all his other classmates. Spoiled gets him the best clothes and the newest CDs and endless cans of Farrah Fawcett spray.

Steve loves both of his parents, and he knows they both love him. That's more than a lot of people he knows can say. After what he's seen with Billy and heard about Lonnie, he appreciates them even more.

And it hurts him, sometimes, that he can't tell them what's wrong. When he wakes up screaming in remembrance of infinite rows of teeth, he doesn't let them comfort him. He can't. If they were dragged into danger because he's too weak to handle it, he'd never forgive himself.

Steve sternly tells himself to stop dwelling, to have a good time tonight, and peels out of the driveway.

 

Marion Webber's house is nice. _Stepford Wives_ nice, to the point of being almost disturbing. It's in the little gated community on the far side of Hawkins, away from the diners and the drive-in theater and the gorge and all the things that make it a community.

But she's rich, and that means a good time, so Steve finds himself pulling into the driveway.

Or at least, he tries to, but it's so full of cars that he's forced to park on the grass. Marion will just have to deal with it. 

The bubbly host had described the theme as "Under the stars, but the weather is supposed to be rainy, so, like, under the planetarium is the theme basically. Also, semi-formal but not, like, stuffy." Indeed, Steve feels a slight drizzle as he makes his way up to the door in his black pants, black button up, and black glittery tie. He doesn't bother knocking. At parties like these, the door is always unlocked.

Inside, the lights are off, and small projectors are scattered on shelves, spinning slow circles of stars across the ceiling and floor. It's actually pretty nice, and it gives Steve a burst of confidence. 

He can do this. He's King Steve Harrington going to a party. He's awesome and hot and totally going to hook up with a random girl, just to prove that he still can. That he still wants to.

"Steve Harrington!" 

He's accosted by Marion's younger sister (Muriel? Melody?) before he has a chance to take two steps.

"Hey there," he says, hoping she'll mention her name. This is embarrassing. He knows _everyone,_ and is super good at keeping track. Used to be, anyway.

"It's so good to see you! I mean, we don't ever talk but that's why it's so awesome to see you!"

"Yeah, you too," he says distractedly. "Hey, have you seen–"

"Nancy Wheeler?" She finishes. "She's here! She and her boyfriend were looking for you. They're right over there."

"Cool, thanks." He slips away before she can continue talking.

Nancy and Jonathan are leaning against a nearby wall, looking giggly and completely, deeply in love.

Yeah. He's so getting it on tonight.

"Oh, Steve!" Jonathan catches sight of him and waves. He's wearing an outfit similar to Steve's, but his bowtie is sparkly red. Steve has no doubt that Nancy had forced him into it.

"Good to see you, Byers." Steve looks him up and down. "You clean up nice."

"Doesn't he?" Nancy loops her arm through her boyfriend's. "He keeps insisting he looks ridiculous."

Neither of them are holding red cups, which is already a sign that this party is going to be a lot better than the last one. They're loitering a few feet away from the main crowd. "So are we dancing, or being wallflowers?" Steve teases.

"Wallflowers, clearly," Jonathan deadpans.

Nancy rolls her eyes and kisses his cheek. "Well I, for one, want to dance. I guess it'll be just me. Alone. Without my knight in sparkly armor."

Jonathan huffs. "If someone tried anything you'd kick their ass, and we all know it." 

"Go tear it up, Nance," Steve says. "I'll keep your lover company."

Nancy pouts, so they follow her into the crowd anyway.

 

"This really isn't my thing!" Jonathan yells over the pulsing beat.

"I never would have guessed!" Steve answers. He's not being sarcastic about that. Jonathan is so different from the quiet, hunched boy of nearly two years ago. Nancy has been good–no, amazing for him. He's visibly happier.

And Steve is proud of him, truly. He gets along surprisingly well with Jonathan, given that they'd punched each other in the face in an alley. 

Then again, they'd saved each other's lives, so it probably canceled out.

He and Jonathan share an interest in cars and have the same taste in music. Though Steve's never really been one for the arts, he has to admit that Jonathan's photography is pretty damn impressive.

Likewise, Jonathan admits he isn't a big sports fan. He'd mentioned pressure from his dad had turned him off the idea, but he never went into detail and Steve didn't ask. He didn't feel it was his place, not quite yet.

Right now, though, the smiling boy dancing with Nancy is light years away from what he once was. Maybe Steve's jealous, just a bit, of his progress. 

Strangely, he isn't mad at Jonathan for basically stealing his girlfriend. He's hurt that Nancy doesn't love him anymore, yes. But she and Jonathan together aren't what's causing the ache. It's the fact he doesn't have that fulfillment anymore.

Nancy wraps her arms around both their shoulders and shimmies down, forcing them to do the same. They all laugh at how silly this situation is, three teenagers just living life, dancing and being normal.

It's the best kind of lie.

When some drunk girl pushes herself up against him, he doesn't back away. But he doesn't let her kiss him, either. She must get bored with his half-hearted grinding, because she twirls away after just a few minutes.

Steve can't be bothered to go after her, so he turns back to Nancy and Jonathan, doing a funny little dance to make them laugh. 

 

At some point they get tired of dancing, and take up an entire couch to rest their feet and catch their breath. Nancy's legs are slung across Steve's lap, back pressed against Jonathan's chest. Steve hasn't checked his watch, but it must be at least several hours past midnight.

Marion Webber leaps on a table beside a large black projector, cups her hands around her mouth, and yells. "Attention! Attention!" She's very obviously hammered.

Once she's decided that enough shambling, drunk teenagers have assembled in the room, she starts her announcement. 

"The party is just starting, but, like, there are a lot of people sitting down! Are your feet tired? Lame. But get this! Plane–plan–panetharion theme, right? And... and what does a good blackout party have?"

Nancy rolls her eyes and whispers to Steve. "We're going to get more chocolate covered pretzels."

Steve snorts. "You just want to avoid her 'super special surprise'." 

"Yeah," Nancy admits, and hops up from the couch, tugging Jonathan up. "Want us to bring you some?"

"I'm okay," Steve says. "Go be safe."

They hurry off, and Steve glances back at Marion, who's flung her arms open like she's the ringmaster of a circus. 

"Ladies... and gentlemen! We present..."

She pats the projector fondly.

"Strobe!" Marion shrieks, and flicks on the machine. Across the room, her sister does the same.

_He's back in the junkyard._

_Darkness and creatures rushing past, howling and screeching. He's going to die here, he knows, and his last thought is of saving the boy he's holding onto._

Steve's breathing picks up, but he can't hear it over the cheer of the drunken crowd. Desperately, he shoves through the gyrating bodies, looking for Nancy or Jonathan. He stumbles over a passed out partygoer. 

_Steve, watch out!_

_Abort!_

He has to leave, with or without them. He can't be in here anymore. Steve lunges for the first door he sees and hauls himself through it.

He's met by an ungodly shriek.

"Get out!" The girl reaches from where she's pinned underneath a boy Steve dimly recognizes and hurls a pillow at him. "Get the fuck out, what is wrong with you?"

_What the fuck is wrong with you?_

"Sorry," Steve gasps, and has no choice but to plunge back into the fray.

_He's not in the darkness anymore. He's in the Byers' house, and Billy Hargrove is grinning up at him with bloody teeth._

_Looks like you got some fire in you after all!_

His nails dig crescents into his palms as he backs against the wall. His head is pounding, and he sinks against the floor. 

"Okay, okay," he whispers to himself. "You're okay. Cou–Count backwards from ten, and you're okay."

His nails pierce his hand.

_Ten._

Somewhere through the fog, he hears someone call his name.

_Nine._

Nothing is ever going to change.

_Eight._

He's a loser at a party freaking out over some strobes.

_Seven._

God, those strobes!

_Six._

There are arms reaching out for him, trying to make him look up.

_Five._

He's going to die here.

_Four._

They're all going to die.

_Three._

Is that Nancy in front of him? No, it can't be.

_Two._

"Holy shit, look at the projectors!"

_One._

The strobe lights explode.


	3. t h r e e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That's the kind of person everyone assumes he still is.

**Year [Redacted], Location A**

_"Sir, you're bleeding!"_

_"Pay it no mind. Now, listen carefully! I've made quite the interesting discovery today."_

_"Sir, we really must get you to–"_

_"Shut up, will you? This information must be recorded immediately. For all we know I may be dead tomorrow."_

_"Sir!"_

_"It's a truth we all face. Now, will you listen, or are you going to keep fretting?"_

_"..."_

_"Good. The increased dosage has triggered a distressed emotional response in 001. While they do not yet suspect the nature of these injections, the results of such procedures are accumulating in its everyday routine."_

_"What do you mean, sir?"_

_"They're forgetting how to complete routine tasks. This proves my theory that even tasks performed since birth, those so deeply engrained in the psyche, can be forgotten. Because 001 is so unaccustomed to such frustrations, they've begun to lash out. Hence my wounds."_

_"That's... good, sir?"_

_"It's the best thing to happen in this building since it was established. With some minor tweaking, I will be able to target specific memories. Perhaps even add new ones! When my superiors see my progress, they won't think twice about letting me continue."_

_"I see. And what, if I may ask, is your end goal, sir?"_

_"You weren't informed?"_

_"No, sir."_

_"Ah. Well, why don't you head on to my office. I need to wash off this blood and file an urgent report. It's a rather complex tale."_

_"I'll be waiting for you, sir."_

—

Monday is one of the worst days he's had in a while.

The school is awash with gossip about Marion's party, and with good reason. Three people were hospitalized. Marion's sister, who had been standing right next to a projector, sustained major trauma to her right eye.

It makes Steve want to throw up.

He knows it's not his fault, obviously. Probably. No one can make things explode mentally, unless you're El. (Or one of the other mysterious psychic kids she's told them about.) And he isn't, so he's upset for nothing. God, he's not even close with Marion!

But the fact is, he _had_ wished for something like that to happen. A distraction, an incident, anything to take the attention off of him so he could escape.

"Steve!" Nancy is walking toward him quickly. 

"Hey, Nance," he says, surprised at the tone of his own voice. He's flippant, keeping his cool.

_Good._

"Jonathan and I both called you yesterday, were you out? We would have visited, too, but..."

"I just didn't answer the phone," Steve shrugs. "Sorry."

Nancy looks suspicious. "You're okay, then? I think we should talk about what happened. All three of us."

Steve shakes his head. "It's not a big thing, Nancy."

"A panic attack is kind of a big thing."

Steve can't help it– he flinches. Nancy looks instantly regretful.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say it that way. We're just worried."

Steve pats her shoulder. "So I had a little freak out. Doesn't everyone? Listen, I actually have to get to class on time today, so..."

"So we _will_ talk about this later." Nancy's tone makes it clear she won't take no for an answer.

Steve shrugs halfheartedly. "Sure. Look, Nance, I have to go. The bell is going to ring in, like, two seconds."

Nancy chews at her lip, clearly wanting more of a promise than he's giving her. "Don't be late," she says reluctantly. "And be safe."

He gives a little salute and walks past her.

 _Be safe._ Bullshit. Why do they even bother with that line? Everything stopped being safe a long time ago.

 

Steve has his hand on the door to marine science when he spots Marion sobbing against her locker. He looks around and doesn't see anyone else, not even a teacher or monitor. It's almost jarring to see the peppy girl without a plethora of giggling friends surrounding her. Why aren't they out here comforting her?

This situation is too familiar. Steve feels another twinge of shame run through him.

"Don't," he whispers to himself. He's two absences away from a referral.

He starts pressing the door. Marion curls further in on herself and dissolves into another bout of tears. He makes a decision.

Being a good person really sucks sometimes.

"Uh– hey, Marion?" Steve approaches her slowly, the way one might approach a wild animal, not sure if she'll bolt or attack.

Her head snaps up. "Oh my god, Steve! Hold on, I just..." She wipes furiously at her face. "Shit, I didn't want anyone to see me like this." She pauses to look up at him, and recognition blooms in her eyes, along with suspicion.

Marion's quite small, Steve notices, probably a few inches shorter than Nancy. He's never really payed attention before, because her personality made up for it. She's loud, theatrical, and always, always, always smiling.

But Marion's not smiling now.

"You were there, right? What? Are you trying to, like, grill me for details? Because if you are–"

"No!" Steve says quickly. "No, that's not it. You looked... well, like you needed a hug, maybe."

Any other time, Steve knows, she would have assumed it was a come-on. A hug from Steve Harrington the womanizer? Manipulating a terrified girl? That's the kind of person everyone assumes he still is. Hell, just last year he probably _would_ have pulled a dick move like that. But Marion is so clearly hurting, and she leans into him so quickly it sends a heavy twist of guilt through his gut.

Marion sniffles, and the dam breaks. She begins to babble uncontrollably. "You know what's depressing? You're the first person to offer me a hug today. People have been coming up to me to apologize and ask what happened, like, 'Oh yeah, my sister is blind in one eye and probably won't have full control of her facial muscles ever again, thanks for asking!' I hate it. I hate it because I'm standing here crying about how many fake friends I have while my sister is suffering!"

Steve isn't quite sure what to do with an armful of sobbing teenage girl, especially one he only knows superficially. But he's damned if he doesn't try to give advice. He pats her back slowly. "I know what fake friends are like. Hell, have you met Tommy and Carol? And believe me, I've been through some rough shit this past year too. So if you need to cry into someone's shoulder, I'm your person."

_Dragging another person into your mess of a life, are you?_

Marion sobs. "Thank you so much, Steve. Do– do you think I could call you later?"

"Sure, if you want." Steve shrugs and accidentally knocks against Marion's head.

"Ow."

"Sorry. I'll give you my number once you've, uh, calmed down a little." To his credit, Steve is really, really trying.

"Thank you," Marion repeats.

They stand in silence for the next few minutes, broken only by Marion's quiet crying.

"I'm getting snot all over your jacket," she mumbles into his arm. 

Steve sighs. "I needed to wash it anyway."

 

Lunch with the kids makes him feel significantly better. All of them are steering clear of talking about the party. In fact, they're a lot more concerned with another issue.

"You know, Mike and El have been together over a year and never even had an anniversary celebration," Dustin announces the moment Steve approaches.

Mike blushes. "El's only been back for six months."

"Yeah, but think of all the days you called her! You've been together in _spirit_." Dustin argues. "So you should totally have a party."

El bumps Mike's shoulder with her own. "I think that would be nice."

"Ha!" Dustin drums his hands on the car excitedly. "It's two to one."

"Three to one," Max pipes up.

"Four," Lucas and Will say simultaneously. They look at each other. "Five."

Mike looks at Steve helplessly. 

He raises his hands in surrender. "Six to one, buddy."

Mike groans, but the smile playing at the corners of his mouth gives him away. Steve thinks these kids' relationships are fucking adorable. "Okay, fine, we'll have an anniversary party! I'll... ask my... mom about it." He mumbles the last sentence, turning more and more red.

"Have Nancy plan it," Steve suggests. "It'll be less embarrassing for you, and she's good at this stuff."

Will perks up. "Jonathan was talking about his and Nancy's six month anniversary the other day. Should we help them too?"

Steve coughs. "I think you should leave that up to them." There must be something to his tone that makes them remember the disaster of a breakup, because the kids all go quiet at the same time.

"Oh. Right." Lucas looks down at his hands.

_Great going, asshole._

"Don't plan your party for this weekend, lovebirds," Steve says, a bit louder than necessary. "You promised you'd introduce me to this whole Dungeons and Demons thing."

"Dungeons and Dragons," Will corrects.

"Yeah, that."

 

Despite the warmness he's gained from hanging with his friends, the ugly, dirty feeling Steve had this morning is creeping back. It only worsens as he drives home, until his head has started to hurt again.

He slams the door to his house. Then he opens it and slams it again. And again. He keeps slamming it until a picture frame falls off a shelf and snaps him out of it.

_He looks up from between his hands. The house is plunged into darkness and all he can hear is screaming._

Steve throws his backpack onto the couch, kicks off his shoes, and stomps up the stairs, hitting his feet against the wood hard as he can. He just needs noise, any kind, to fill this creepy silence.

_The pressure in his head has released. Nancy and Jonathan are clutching onto his arms, concern etched into their faces. Somewhere nearby, Marion is wailing._

God, would it kill his parents to be home more often? To act like they care? Just once, he'd like to get in trouble for something. For smoking pot or getting shitfaced or bringing home girls for things obviously more intimate than "studying." 

But he knows it'll never happen, because he's their perfect, popular son, who's going to graduate and go to college and be recruited by the Major League. That's perfect Steve Harrington's perfect plan.

 _Fuck it,_ he thinks, then repeats it out loud. "Fuck it. Forget all this shit!"

Steve's headache is splitting as he begins to kick at the bottom of the wall in his room. He kicks and yells and his own anger scares him, but not enough to stop. He feels tears dripping down his face, which only makes him angrier. What kind of man cries in self-pity?

_My fault. My fault my fault myfaultmyfaultmyfault._

He tears away at the wall, chipping blue paint, until his foot is screaming with pain, because it counters the screaming in his head. 

Steve feels like a ticking time bomb. When he detonates, he'll destroy everyone around him, because it's all he's managed to do so far. Barb, and Marion's sister, and even Nancy, just a little bit. All he's ever done is hurt people. 

_Tennineeightsevensixfivefourthreetwo..._

His vision goes white.

_One._

 

 

When his father arrives home from work six hours later, he finds that the screen of the TV has shattered. Steve is fast asleep upstairs, having cried himself to exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: wow i love steve harrington. what a good, honorable man. he’s been through a lot and deserves a good long rest.
> 
> me to me: cause him pain.
> 
>  
> 
> (this is a really short chapter sorry y’all i’ll make up for my inconsistencies someday)


	4. f o u r

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's got an awful suspicion that he's responsible. He doesn't _remember_ smashing the screen, but then again he doesn't remember much of last night at all, except for the blinding anger.

**Year [Redacted], Location Z**

_"Mr. and Mrs. Harrison?_

_"Yes, my husband and I."_

_"We have your files right here. Now, we understand that you have had difficulty during the adoption process?"_

_"Difficulty is one word for it, yes."_

_"I see. If you'll take a look right here–"_

_"I have a question."_

_"Ma'am, if you would wait until we have–"_

_"We've been rejected by countless families because I am a 'working woman', because of our religion, and numerous other excuses, which I'm sure all lead back to those two points. What makes your agency so much better?"_

_"Dear, maybe you should calm down."_

_"Let me finish, Stanley! Tell me, how can we be certain that just because our future son will have a Bar Mitzvah instead of a Confirmation we won't be treated as failed parents?"_

_"Ma'am, you'll be pleased to know that our agency abstains from any religious affiliation. May we review the files now?"_

_"...Yes, we may."_

_"Your profile has already been processed. Right now, you are being considered as potential parents by several mothers. We'll notify you the moment any of these women make their decision."_

_"Thank you."_

_"You're very welcome."_

_"..."_

_"Dear?"_

_"Thank you."_

_"Excellent. There's just a few simple things we need to go over..."_

 

—

 

The next morning, Steve attempts to get out of bed and promptly screams when his feet hit the ground.

"Shit!"

Reluctantly, he looks down and instantly wishes he hadn't.

His right foot is purpling brilliantly, swollen almost to the size of his shoe. Hesitantly flexing the barely-recognizable appendage, Steve claps a hand over his mouth to avoid letting another ear-piercing yell escape.

Thank god his mother sleeps like a brick until noon.

_Okay,_ he thinks to himself. _You've gotten worse from baseball. Remember when you had a triple fracture in your wrist? This is nothing._

Taking a deep breath, he bends his knee and pulls his leg upward onto his lap. Carefully, he presses along the edges of his foot. His hands are shaking.

It doesn't look broken, just bruised. Maybe a toe or two is cracked. Maybe three, actually. The big toe looks kind of bent out of shape too. No big deal. A few minutes on ice and they'll be fine for the day.

Steve cringes when he realizes he'll have to go down the stairs.

Once he's managed to heave himself off the bed and hop down the hall, he goes about the risky business of getting down the stairs on one leg. At one point, his damaged foot strikes against a step by accident, and he nearly blacks out.

Maybe school isn't such a good idea.

He hobbles to the freezer, grabs a decent-sized bag of ice, and struggles back up the stairs with it. His mother won't check the driveway or his room when she wakes up. To her knowledge, he's never skipped, or at least, never stayed at home to do it. 

On his way, he picks up the cordless and brings it to his room. He arranges himself on the bed with his foot propped up and packed in ice. Then he debates with himself for a good ten minutes about whether or not to call Nancy.

On one hand, if he's not at school without telling her, she'll worry. But if he lets her know he broke several toes by smashing them against his bedroom wall, she'll drop everything to come over.

At least with the second option, he won't be surrounded by silence all day.

When he calls the Wheeler's cordless, a rasping, sleep-addled tone answers him. "Hello?" He recognizes Jonathan Byers' voice immediately.

Wow, okay, Steve is not going to ask how they managed _that_ on a school night. Then again, he had gotten plenty of experience sneaking in through Nancy's window, so in all likelihood it's really not that difficult.

"Jonathan, buddy, listen, can you tell Nancy that I won't be at school today? Tomorrow's not looking too good either. I just don't want her to worry." Steve says. "Or you," he adds hastily.

"Yeah, of course, what happened?" Jonathan seems much more awake now.

"Nothing big, nothing big," Steve assures him. "I just ran into the wall. With my foot. And.... broke a few toes, possibly."

"What the hell, Steve, are you okay?"

Steve squints at his foot. "I mean, I've got it on ice, so I think I'm good for now."

There's rapid mumbling on the other end of the line. It goes on for quite a bit.

Finally, Jonathan returns. "We'll be right over," he says.

"Wait, no–" Steve protests, but Jonathan has already hung up.

 

He hears the door swing open downstairs. Nancy's voice floats up. "Steve?"

There's silence, and then, closer and louder, "Steve, what happened to your TV?"

"What's wrong with it?" He struggles to sit up. Not a second later, his friends burst into the room.

"It's all– holy shit, Steve!" Jonathan rushes over. "How hard did you hit the wall?"

Steve has the suspicion that pointing out the foot-shaped hole in the plaster will only make matters worse, so he just shrugs. "It looks worse than it really is. Now what's this about my TV?"

Nancy's hands are on his leg, her touch cool and soothing. "I think we should call the hospital."

"Call the– are you insane? My parents might be ignorant to my shitty decisions most of the time, but a hospital bill is kind of fucking noticeable." His leg twitches, and he grits his teeth. "I've broken toes before, and all you have to do is ice them."

Jonathan peers closely at his foot. "I don't know. This one might need to be set." 

"Oh, my god, I just told you it's fine." Steve groans. 

Jonathan shakes his head. "Let me call my mom. She's had nursing training, and she won't snitch on you." 

_"No,"_ Steve insists.

Nancy huffs. "It's either Joyce or the hospital. Your choice."

It's a no-brainer.

"Call your mom," he grumbles. He feels around in his sheets for the cordless and hands it to Jonathan. He pads out of the room, and Steve hears low conversation begin.

"Steve," Nancy says softly. He looks back her her. "Was this really an accident?"

"No," he says, sarcasm creeping into his tone. "I just fucked up my toes for fun." 

"You can talk to us, you know that right?" Nancy looks pained, and he feels terribly ashamed for lying to her.

But telling the truth would cause her even more sadness. 

"I know. But this isn't something we need to discuss."

Nancy opens her mouth to reply, but stops as Jonathan walks back into the room. He tosses Steve the cordless. "Mom'll be here in twenty."

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the clock and does a double-take. "Shit."

"What?" Nancy looks around to where he's staring.

Steve swears. "Look, you can play doctor all you want, but when my mom wakes up she'll see your car. Go move that, and then come back in here and _be quiet."_

"I'll do it," Nancy says, and darts out of the room. 

Jonathan and Steve are left alone.

"So," Steve says. "Can you _please_ tell me what happened to my TV?"

 

When Joyce pulls up, Jonathan sprints out to tell her where to hide her car. Steve is covering his face with a pillow, mourning the loss of the TV.

He's got an awful suspicion that he's responsible. He doesn't _remember_ smashing the screen, but then again he doesn't remember much of last night at all, except for the blinding anger. 

Thankfully, Joyce doesn't remark on it when she enters her room. She just gives him a sad smile and gets right to work, gently pressing along his toes, trying to find the breaks. Steve does an excellent job of not screaming.

He's always liked Joyce Byers. Though he isn't as close to her as Nancy is, they'd talked a lot in the weeks following the Incident. When he hangs out with Will or Jonathan, she'll poke her head through the door, make a corny joke, and ask if they want any snacks. She's an awesome mom.

"You're not going to like this," she says, and Steve's heart sinks to his stomach. "I need to set your big toe, your pinkie, and this one." She points to his second to last toe, the one that looks the most crooked. 

Steve exhales slowly. "I'm a big boy," he jokes, trying to lighten to mood. "Go ahead."

Joyce looks over her shoulder. "Jonathan, come here. Hold Steve's hand, please?"

Jonathan walks around to the other side of the bed and takes his hand. "What am I doing?"

"He'll need something to hold onto," Joyce says, and cracks his pinkie into place.

"G– God, oh, shit, fu–" Steve slaps a hand over his mouth. With the other, he squeezes Jonathan's fingers so hard he's sure Joyce will need to set those next.

Joyce pats his calf soothingly. "Shh, you're okay. Two more. Do you need a minute?"

Steve shakes his head, embarrassed. He usually takes great care not to curse in front of her.

Joyce grips his big toe. "Jonathan, you might want to switch hands."

_Cccrrack!_

"Motherfuc– damn!"

"Steve? Is that you?"

They all freeze.

Mrs. Harrington's slippers are loud as she makes her way across the wooden floor, and Steve thanks every named deity that his door is shut.

"Must be imagining things," they hear her mutter quietly.

And it breaks Steve's heart a little bit when she doesn't even bother to check. He notices Joyce looking at him with concern, and he turns away.

She must need to go to the store, because they only wait in silence for thirty minutes or so. Once they hear her car start, they all breathe a sigh of relief.

"When do you think she'll be back?" Nancy asks.

"Knowing my mom? She'll spend two hours deciding which brand of peach to get." Steve is still gripping Jonathan's hand. "Hey, Joyce? I'm ready for that last one now."

(He's not.)

"Holy shit, ow!"

 

Joyce leaves after giving him strict instructions to stay off his foot for at least four days. Steve notices that she doesn't reprimand Jonathan for skipping school.

"She likes you," Jonathan tells him. "Usually she'd get on my ass about missing school. She's always asking about how you are and when you're stopping by the house."

"Tell her I'll hang out soon as I can walk," Steve says. His foot is still throbbing. "Damn, I'm gonna miss the whole week."

"We'll bring you notes everyday," Nancy promises.

The cordless begins to ring. Steve answers it reluctantly, assuming it's the school.

"Hello?"

"Steve? Is this you?"

"Marion?" He asks.

_"Marion?"_ Nancy echoes in disbelief.

"Oh, hi Steve! I just– well, you said I could call. And I was worried. I have first lunch, so I just went to the media. Are you sick? I didn't see you this morning. Wait, is this creepy? Oh my god, what if you had been at school? I mean you aren't, but what if? I would've looked like a total creeper–"

"It's fine," Steve assures, cutting off her rambling. "Yeah, I kind of hurt my foot."

Jonathan snorts. "Just a little bit."

_Shut up,_ Steve mouths at him.

"Oh, good! No, horrible! No, I mean, like, good you're not dying of plague. Horrible you're hurt. Oh, geez, how long will you be out? Shit, wait, that sounds bad."

Steve can't help it–he has to laugh at her frantic tone. "Marion, relax. I broke a toe by tripping on the stairs like an idiot."

Nancy waves to get his attention, then points at Jonathan, herself, and then to the door. Steve nods, and they back out of his room slowly.

"Wow, thank god it's not anything too bad! Um, but the point I had, like, the reason I wanted to talk to you was..." She stops abruptly.

Steve hasn't heard someone speak this awkwardly to him in a long time. "Yeah?" He prompts.

"Would you want to hang out this weekend? Like, if you're not already busy. Or have to rest your foot. Or whatever, it's whatever. You know what, I'm gonna go."

"No, hey, wait!" Steve stops her from hanging up. "I'd really like to hang out with you. I was actually going to a friend's house on Saturday, and I'm sure they'd love another person." This is a blatant lie. He knows for a fact that the kids are extremely picky about who they allow into their campaigns. 

They'll just have to deal with it.

Marion is delighted. "Oh, great! Who's your friend."

Ah. Here's the catch. 

Steve sighs. "So, what do you know about a little something called Dungeons and Dragons?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so steve harrington is canon jewish sorry guys i don’t make the rules
> 
>  
> 
> also: never kick a wall full-force with bare feet. you will not come away unscathed. seriously, whatever steve is doing at this point of the story, do the opposite.


	5. f i v e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's about to snap back something witty, but Nancy's face flashes in his mind. Jonathan's, too, immediately after, and hot shame fills him.

**Year [Redacted], Location B**

_"We've gotten word that Dr. Rembrandt has continued his... experiments without your consent."_

_"Of course he has. I expected nothing else from such a man."_

_"What do you suggest we do?"_

_"Simply telling him to stand down will have no effect. Anyone who's met him knows this. If we didn't have so much invested in 001 I'd let him continue his schemes, but as it is we must take drastic measures."_

_"And those measures would be?"_

_"I've had some..."_

_"Some?"_

_"Apologies. I'm attempting to think of a proper moniker. I loathe the term double agent, but that's what we'll use in the meantime. Several of Dr. Rembrandt's supposedly loyal assistants report to me quite often."_

_"What do these assets tell you?"_

_"He plans to remove the subject from the lab."_

_"What?"_

_"I was just as astounded as you when I first heard the plan. But I believe I now understand what the good doctor is going to do."_

_"..."_

_"Oh, you expect me to tell you? In time. For now we must ensure the security of the subject."_

_"And remove Dr. Rembrandt from his position?"_

_"Let us not be hasty. I would prefer to avoid disposing of our leading scientist on this project if at all possible."_

_"Who else will be... assisting us?"_

_"Don't concern yourself with that. Do as I say and everything will go smoothly."_

_"If you say so."_

—

On Saturday, Steve and Marion pull up at the Wheeler's at the same time. He'd promised Marion the game wouldn't be too confusing.

He was wrong.

 

" _Now_ can I cast a spell?" Steve asks.

Mike shakes his head. "You're a Fighter, you don't use magic."

Steve sputters. "How come Marion gets to do spells? She's not a Magic-User."

Marion rolls her eyes at him. "Because I'm a Cleric, and we gain the gift of magic through our god."

"Look, Marion gets it! High five, Marion." Dustin leans across the table.

Marion slaps his hand with her own and giggles. "You know, I didn't really want to hang out in a middle schooler's basement playing nerd stuff, but you guys are actually pretty cool."

"How are you getting this so quickly?" Steve stares at her in disbelief.

"She has the gift," Will says, grinning. "Don't feel bad, Steve. Not everyone has a natural talent for the best game ever."

"Yeah," Marion parrots, patting his shoulder, "don't feel bad, Steve."

Steve buries his face in his hands and groans.

Though he's not really here for getting burned by thirteen year olds, he's definitely relieved that they all adore Marion. The boys are hyper and giggly, and Steve suspects it's due to praise from a pretty and popular senior girl. He can't blame them, really. The general consensus from El and Max seems to be the more girls, the better.

Marion, for her part, is just as into it as they are. Steve feels bad for how he's thought of her throughout high school. He's always dismissed her as ditzy and shallow. Now he's glad that he's able to distract her from worrying about her sister. 

Mrs. Wheeler opens the door to the basement. "Marion? There's a call for you."

Marion flushes. "I told my dad he could check in on me after like an hour or two. Be right back!" She dashes up the stairs.

Once they're sure she's gone, Lucas and Dustin both turn to Steve. "Ooooh–"

"Shut up, assholes." Steve flicks Lucas on the forehead. "It's not like that."

"She's pretty," El remarks.

"Of course she is, but it's _not like that,"_ he repeats firmly.

The door opens, and Marion hurries down the steps two at a time. "Geez, sorry I took so long! My dad gets panicky." She plops down beside Steve.

Lucas looks confused. "You were barely gone twenty seconds."

Marion waves a hand dismissively. "Punjabi goes fast."

Dustin blinks at her. "What's Punjabi?"

"Oh, did I say that?" Marion looks down. "Nevermind. It's no big thing."

Max speaks up. "It's an Indian language, right? That's so cool! Marion, is your family from India?"

"No!" Marion bursts out. "I mean, yeah, my dad's Punjabi, but we aren't, like, weird, I promise."

Steve feels a pang in his heart when he looks at her expression. It reminds him of the day he found her by the lockers. "It's not weird to be Indian."

Marion shrugs. "That's what my mom tells me. But it's just... easier to not say, you know? Or, well, I guess you don't. My mom's white and I look more like her. People don't figure it out often."

"Why don't you want people to know?" Mike asks, putting his rulebook down.

"Cause it's Hawkins," Marion says. 

Lucas nods in agreement. "Come on, man. You know how Troy and those douchebags treat me."

"Marion, trust me, I get it." Steve tells her, and she looks back at him. "My family's Jewish. Not exactly something we're shouting to everyone we see."

"Oh," Marion says, and Steve can see the relief spreading across her face. "I'm sorry I kinda, like, said you didn't get it. Thank you."

They sit, smiling at each other, until El breaks the silence.

"Back to the game, please?"

 

Marion leaves at eight, a whole three hours later than she said she could stay. 

"Time just slipped away from me," she says, blushing. Steve was walking her to her car. "I really had fun today, though. We should do it again soon!"

He agrees. She's the kind of person who lights up a whole room.

When he gets back inside, he's confronted by six insistent middle schoolers.

"You _liiiike_ her, don't you?" Dustin seems intent on wheedling him. Steve guesses it's payback for the (admittedly poor) advice he gave Dustin about Max. 

He's about to snap back something witty, but Nancy's face flashes in his mind. Jonathan's, too, immediately after, and hot shame fills him. His head starts to hurt. God, what is he doing? He can't still be after Nancy when she's so happy with Jonathan.

Kids have good perception, right? Maybe there's some truth to what they're saying. Marion is a sweet girl. They don't know each other well, but that's kind of the point of dating. 

He could like her, if he tried.

"So what if I do?" Steve crosses his arms. "Let the master deal with this."

Lucas pretends to gag, but Steve sees right past him. He's holding hands with Max under the table.

_So. New plan. He'll date Marion, just like he's dated any girl he wanted before. Just like old days. Just... just..._

"Steve?" Will is waving a hand in front of his face.

God, his head hurts!

"Sorry, zoned out for a second." Steve blinks rapidly. "Hey, uh, question, why'd you turn the lights off?"

Mike looks around in confusion. "Steve... they're still on."

"What? No they're not. And it smells nasty." The building pressure behind his eyes is making him snappy. It really does smell terrible, though. He leans forward so he can see El's face clearly in the darkness. "It's you, right? Knock it off, I think I'm getting a migraine."

"Not me," El says, shaking her head. 

"You look kind of pale," Lucas remarks. "Maybe you should lay down for a minute."

Steve shakes his head and instantly regrets it, nearly doubling over from the wave of pain. "N–no, listen, I'm not making this shit up." 

Will steps forward. "What do you smell?" 

Steve wrinkles his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "Uh... sulfur? Something rotting, at least."

He opens his eyes to see Will looking stricken.

"Are you okay? Will?" Dustin taps his friend's shoulder.

"That's what the Upside Down smelled like," Will chokes out.

"The Gate," El whispers.

At _The Gate,_ the pain in Steve's head loosens, just a bit. He straightens up, wincing. The lights are back on. "Wow. Okay, back to normal. Shit, sorry I scared you guys."

Max raises an eyebrow. "You acted like you were dying two seconds ago."

"Why were you smelling the Upside Down?" Mike's tone is concerned, but edged with suspicion.

"Well, I'm not now, am I?" Steve pretends to check his watch before remembering he isn't wearing one. "I was probably imagining things, like you said. Anyway. I need to get home. See you Monday."

Before any of them can protest or question him, he dashes out the door, but not before feeling El's piercing stare as he leaves.

 

On the drive home, his head starts to pound again. He's only able to ignore it for a minute before his eyes start to blur. He's honked at twice for swerving into the wrong lane. 

_That's what the Upside Down smelled like._

Steve pulls over on the side of the road in fear of losing consciousness. "Shit!" He punches the steering wheel. Punches it again.

Again.

Again.

His foot throbs, reminding him of what happened last time he lost himself in anger, and he forces himself to stop.

Without anything to do, the silence of the night is awful. He starts the car back up just to turn on the radio and drown out his own splitting headache. It doesn't work, but Steve keeps it on just in case it starts to.

Some rock song he doesn't recognize is playing, all thrashing and raging and screaming. There's a countdown, too. He doesn't know what's going on in the song, it's too jumbled to be decipherable, but he can pick out _that._

"TENNINEEIGHTSEVEN," the singer shrieks, guitars shredding behind him. Steve feels tears start to leak from the corners of his eyes.

_Fucking pathetic. Useless._

"SIXFIVEFOUR!"

His bat is still in the trunk, a little bit bloodier than before but otherwise no worse for wear. He wants to grab it and smash this damn radio and its shitty music until there's nothing left.

"THREETWOONE!"

With an awful squeal of instruments, the song ends, and the trunk flies open by itself.

Steve whirls around in his seat, suddenly feeling much better. His mind is clear, if a bit panicky.

Rustling in the bushes makes him jump out of his skin. A figure emerges, and Steve can hardly believe his eyes.

"El?" He gasps out. "What the– how the hell did you follow me so quickly?"

She picks a leaf out of her hair. "You didn't get very far," she explains. "And you didn't go very fast. A mile isn't long to run."

Steve is confused and a little pissed off. "Why? And why'd you have to pull that trick with my trunk? Scared the shit out of me."

El walks up to his car without giving him an answer. Reaching through the window, she takes his hand. Her fingers trace along his left forearm and wrist, almost as if she's searching for something underneath the skin. 

"El, seriously, what was so important you had to sprint after my car?"

"I followed because I suspected," she tells him.

This girl never gives a straight answer, does she?

Steve narrows his eyes. "You're not making any sense." 

_What's wrong with you?_

"I didn't do anything to your trunk," she says quietly, still gripping his arm.

"Well, it didn't just fling open by itself, did it?" 

Her grip tightens. "No."

Steve knows what she's going to say next. He knows, but still tries desperately to deflect. Because it's impossible. Because he's normal Steve Harrington living a normal life, and who will never tell anyone else about the monsters that visit him in his dreams. This isn't part of the plan. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

"Steve." She looks up into his eyes. "You know I didn't do this."

He stays silent.

"You did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i got all SJW-y on you in the beginning of this chapter, but i feel it was necessary. i love writing diverse characters but debated for a while about how to fit marion in. as much as i hate it, Hawkins is a town in the 80s with canonically only one family of color. if marion wasn’t whitepassing and didn’t keep her culture on the down low, there’s no way she or her sister would have been as popular as they are.
> 
> also: a plot finally begins to take shape!


	6. s i x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bat is ripped from Dustin's hands, slamming to the ground. Steve collapses along with it.

**Year [Redacted], Location A**

_"I want her dead."_

_"Sir!"_

_"You act surprised? You think the punishment for deliberate sabotage should be lesser?"_

_"No, sir, but–"_

_"But nothing. No one can begin to imagine the setback this has caused me."_

_"Sir, the subject has been subdued..."_

_"Are you daft? Are you right in the head? The very concept of having to subdue my subject sickens me."_

_"I'm not sure I understand, sir."_

_"001 has become aware of ulterior motives. It knows I can use methods other than reciprocity and communication to induce its compliance. I've lost its trust."_

_"I'm... sorry, sir."_

_"The obvious solution is to target those memories with a healthy shot of the histone deacetylase inhibitors. But a memory wipe can't erase base instincts. It can't erase the primal fear of not being fed for three days."_

_"Then, sir, what do you suggest?"_

_"It's time to accelerate the experiment."_

 

—

 

"Guys," Steve tells them all. "This is ridiculous."

They're standing on the edge of the gorge in the dark. El's decided that she needs to prove Steve's supposed psychic ability to the others, _right this very instant._ It's nearing midnight, and the air is colder than it has any right to be in May. All of the kids are huddled together.

El holds up a rock sternly. "Look."

He squints at the rock. "This is a waste of time. It's just some freak accident. If you're so convinced, can we at least do it tomorrow?"

"No," El says, and chucks the rock over the edge.

They all peer down, watching it sail through the air and hit the water.

"Um..." Dustin begins.

"You should have caught it," El reprimands. 

Steve lifts his arms in exasperation. "How? I'm telling you, this isn't me. Even if it were, I sure as hell can't control it."

"Maybe it needs to be something he cares about," Max interjects. "An object he has an emotional attachment to."

Dustin snaps his fingers. "That's it! Steve, take off your shoe."

"Take off my– I'm not throwing my shoe! Besides, it's a _shoe._ I'm not _that_ materialistic." Steve huffs.

El glares at him insistently. "Give me the shoe."

"No."

The kids shout at him at him simultaneously.

"Come on, man!"

"Steve, give her the shoe!"

"Take it off!" 

"God, fine!" Steve kicks off his left shoe, since his right foot is still bandaged. "Here. Waste my time and money." 

El takes it from him. "Concentrate," she tells Steve, and flings it.

They watch it fall in silence.

Steve tilts his head back and groans. "This isn't going to work."

"Maybe if you actually, you know, tried." Max rolls her eyes.

"Hey, don't sass me." He points at her accusingly. "I didn't ask to be here either." 

For a moment, all of them stand awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. 

"Bat!" Dustin yells.

"Bat?" Steve asks.

"Bat." El nods at Dustin, who scrambles for Steve's car, parked a few feet away.

"Oh, god, _bat,_ " Steve realizes with horror. "Hey, don't touch it, asshole!"

He turns to run after Dustin, but finds himself frozen in place. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees El's extended hand.

“Come on, really?” He's only eighteen and already way too old for this shit. 

"Sorry, Steve," Lucas apologizes. "But you know this is important."

Dustin returns with the bat, waving it above his head. "Okay! Here we go. Are you ready?"

Steve thrashes in El's mental hold. Predictably, he doesn't move an inch. "No, I'm not! Fuck you!"

"Jesus, chill out," Mike says, wrinkling his nose.

To her credit, El does look remorseful. "I'm sorry, Steve. But it's good that you're so emotional."

"I beg to differ," he deadpans, gritting his teeth.

Dustin readies himself to throw the bat over. "I'll count from five. At one let him go, and he'll have a second or two to get over here, or prepare his mental power thing."

El nods, still focused on restraining Steve. She wipes her nose on her shoulder. "Ready."

"Come on, guys, not cool." Steve is growing desperate. "That's important to me. You can't just throw it down there."

Will looks unsure. "M–maybe we shouldn't..."

"Start counting," El interrupts. "I'm sure."

Dustin swings the bat. "Five..."

Steve can't breathe. The smell of sulfur invades his senses.

"Four..."

El's grip loosens just enough for him to turn toward the gorge.

"Three..."

"Guys, stop!" Steve throws all his strength into fighting El's hold. 

"Two..."

"I'm sorry," El whispers. Her nose is bleeding more profusely, and Steve realizes how much strain he's causing her. The bat isn't worth hurting his friend. He lightens his resistance, but doesn't stop completely.

"One!" 

Steve stumbles as he regains control of his body. He sees Dustin's stance shift.

"No!" He screams.

The bat is ripped from Dustin's hands, slamming to the ground. Steve collapses along with it. His vision goes white and a stream of numbers surfaces in his memory.

_01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01110101 01100010 01101010 01100101 01100011 01110100 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01100010 01100101 01100101 01101110 00100000 01110011 01110101 01100011 01100011 01100101 01110011 01110011 01100110 01110101 01101100 01101100 01111001 00100000 01100011 01101111 01101110 01100100 01101001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01100101 01100100 00101110 00100000 01010000 01110010 01100101 01110000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01100110 01101111 01110010 00100000 01101110 01100101 01111000 01110100 00100000 01110000 01101000 01100001 01110011 01100101 00101110_

Dimly, he hears the kids calling his name. He wants to reach out, reassure them, but it's all too much. His brain is being assaulted by data he doesn't know the meaning off but which causes an ache throughout his body.

El's hands land on his temple, and Steve snaps back to reality. The numbers slip away from him, tendrils of something buried so deep it's near impossible to access.

He doesn't know what the girl is doing, but waves of calm, soothing energy flow to his nerves, combating the agony. 

"I'm so sorry." Her lips don't move, but Steve hears her voice echoing in his head. "I had to know. _You_ deserved to know."

Somewhere behind him, Will is yelling for them to run home and find Jonathan. Steve tries to protest, but all that leaves his mouth is a strangled rasp. He lies there, surrounded by panic, and he hurts knowing he's caused it. 

_Nothing will ever be the same._

 

By the time Jonathan's car shows up, Steve is back on his feet. He's holding the bat protectively. 

Nancy hops out first, Jonathan close behind her. They sprint over to him.

Nancy nearly dives to the ground, reaching for his injured foot. When she touches it, he jerks away in agony. All the strain against Eleven's hold has caused the pain to flare up. "Oh, Steve," she sighs. "Why didn't you say something?"

Steve swallows dryly. "What would I have told you? That I still have flashbacks to Halloween? That I suddenly have psychic powers?"

_"Anything!"_ Nancy snaps. Her tone startles him. "Anything to let us know how much you were hurting.” 

“It's not like you went through it alone," Jonathan points out. "We all saw what you saw. We're all working through it." His eyes flicker to Will for a split-second. "We would have understood." 

“Yeah, well, I was _handling it,"_ Steve retorts. 

"Putting your foot through a wall is not "handling it," Steve!" Nancy stands, brushing herself off. "I know you're tired of dealing with this shit. We're all tired." 

Steve scoffs. "Of course we're all tired, it's one in the morning and we're standing out in the cold." 

Nancy looks as if she wants to strangle him. "That is not what I– you know what? Fine. Fine! We're talking about this tomorrow. No exceptions." Her expression is strained. 

Jonathan speaks up. "Do you wanna crash at mine tonight? No offense, but it's probably not the best idea for you to be unsupervised." 

_Unsupervised,_ like he's some sort of dangerous creature. 

But maybe he is. 

"If it makes you feel better," he acquiesces. 

Nancy is visibly relieved at his compliance. "Steve, can I take your car to drop the kids off? I'll take it home and drive it back to your house first thing in the morning." 

“Go ahead." Steve makes his way over to Jonathan's car, sliding into the passenger seat. "Be safe." 

“Be safe," the kids chorus as Nancy herds them into the car. 

Jonathan gets in, and Will clambers into the backseat. In the time it takes Jonathan to start the car, wait for Nancy to pull away from the gorge, and get back onto the road, the younger Byers boy is fast asleep. 

"You'd think after all that he'd be hyper," Steve mutters. 

Jonathan snorts a laugh. "It's been a long day." 

“God, understatement of the fucking year." Steve hits the back of his head against the seat. "Nancy was right. I'm so tired of this." 

He's tired in general, actually. Now that he's calmer, the exhaustion seeps into his bones, weighing him down. 

Jonathan turns on the radio. A soft love song drifts from the speaker, one Steve recognizes faintly. It's the kind of song he likes but rarely gets the chance to really appreciate, because it's not the type of music people like him are supposed to listen to. His old friends, the assholes, had complained about the "girly lovely-dovey shit" that played on the radio these days. Steve had kept his mouth shut. 

_Some people can hold it together,_ the singer croons. _Last through all kinds of weather– can we?_

It lulls Steve closer to sleep. "I just don't know what to do, man." Steve's brain-to-mouth filter slips away as he confides in Jonathan. "I'm terrified."

A warm hand rests on his shoulder. "We've wasted so much time being scared. Just... sleep. You need it." 

Steve leans into the touch, and lets himself fade away. 

 

Jonathan is shaking him awake. "Steve. Hey, c'mon. We're home."

Steve groans, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "M-morning?"

"More like twenty minutes to two, but sure. Will's already inside. Do you need some help?"

If he were more conscious, he'd say no to save his pride. But Steve is aching and half convinced he's still dreaming, so he nods and closes his eyes again.

It only takes a few moments for Jonathan's arms to loop around his shoulders and waist. Steve has to actually put effort into helping him. He nearly falls onto the ground as he's half-carried half-dragged out of the car.

At least Jonathan's trying, though. It's kind of adorable, if he's honest. 

They're halfway to the door when Steve turns and sags into Jonathan, wrapping his arms around him. He can't help it. 

God, when was the last time he hugged someone?

Jonathan clears his throat. "Steve."

"Just a minute," Steve says. He takes a breath and forces himself to let go. 

They stumble into the house. "Mom's asleep already. You'll have to leave super early, sorry about that. If she knew we stayed out so late she'd have a fit, and I really don't want to put more stress on her," Jonathan explains, pulling Steve along down the hall.

"Mmhm," Steve agrees, not really paying attention.

Jonathan guides Steve to his bedroom, where he promptly collapses onto the bed. Jonathan sighs. "I'll take the floor."

"No," Steve mumbles into the pillow. "Up here."

After a lengthy silence, he feels a weight sink into the bed beside him. "Hey, Jonathan?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

Steve shrugs. "For everything. For keeping secrets. F–for hugging you without asking."

Jonathan turns to look at him. "You don't need to apologize for that."

"I do," Steve insists.

Jonathan looks like he wants to say more, but doesn't. "Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight, Jonathan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy. this chapter was tedious to write. a lot happens fast and it’s not even very long. i’m tired and depressed. so are these characters. i relate to them more than is probably healthy.
> 
>  
> 
> if you’re curious, [this](https://youtu.be/Ur7qm8l0dKI) is the song jonathan and steve were listening to in the car.


	7. s e v e n

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He might be projecting, just a little. Even so, he throws her a lifeline, because it's what he wishes desperately someone would do for him.

**Year [Redacted], Location A**

_"It won't let us touch it, sir."_

_"This is not news to me."_

_"Sir, with all due respect, I'm afraid you misunderstand. If we offer it food, it will refuse to eat because it believes it has been tainted. If we go in with tranquilizers it rips them out before they can take effect. Once I witnessed firsthand as it telepathically withdrew its own blood to avoid being sedated."_

_"That is... unfortunate. I'd hoped to not up the dosage just yet, but it seems the inevitable cannot be delayed any longer."_

_"I'll inform the nurses, sir."_

_"And the host families?"_

_"Sir, our agents have picked out our three best contenders. All early thirties, no criminal records, high-paying jobs, no interest in moving away from Hawkins. None have expressed concern about adopting an older child with... medical difficulties."_

_"Excellent. I'd like those files on my desk by tonight."_

_"Absolutely, sir."_

_"I'd like to inspect the subject myself tonight, if possible."_

_"I'm sure that can be arranged, sir. Would you like 001 to be informed of your arrival?"_

_"No. I'd like its reaction to be genuine. You will be the one monitoring 001's amygdala, correct?"_

_"I always am, sir."_

_"Wonderful. You really are the only one I can trust in this facility, Miss Madeline."_

_"...Thank you, Dr. Rembrandt."_

 

—

 

If it were up to Steve, he'd forsake school entirely, wipe the past few months from his mind, and spend the rest of his life interning for his dad, making just enough for himself and a nice wife. No kids, though. He's had enough of that.

_Once, he dreamed of more than that. Once, he was a bright-eyed boy with a plan and a way of getting there. A bit of a jerk, but no worse than any other teenager in high school._

_Once._

But here he is, bright and early Monday. It's finals week, so any excuse Steve had is out the window, psychic powers or otherwise. Jonathan and Nancy drove him to school, and they insist he joins them for lunch. 

"No sneaking off to hang out with our brothers," Nancy says. "They can do without supervision for one hour."

"Can they really?" Steve raises an eyebrow.

Nancy sighs. "Probably not. But my point still stands."

Steve steps out of the car gingerly, careful to be light on his sore foot. Nancy and Jonathan both have first period on the opposite side of school, so he hobbles along toward class by himself.

"Steve!" 

Marion catches up with him in the hallway, and Steve's heart freezes.

_All around him, screaming. Marion is on the phone with the police, clutching at her wailing sister. Nancy and Jonathan are shouting that they have to get out of the house._

_His fault._

"Hey," he says. "Are your finals in the morning or afternoon?"

"Morning," she groans. "I was at the hospital visiting Molly until like eleven last night. Totally drained."

Steve is relieved that Marion has finally said her sister's name. He already feels awful about not knowing it in the first place. He catches the waver in her voice, too. She can posture and fake it all she wants, but he knows she's still reliving that night. The one he caused.

Steve nudges her. "I have them early too. You'll be fine. A lot better than me, probably."

Marion scoffs. "Shut _up,_ Steve. You were, like, super smart in eighth grade."

"Yeah, _was,"_ he protests. "You know I'm barely graduating, right?"

Marion heaves a sigh and flips her hair over her shoulder, accidentally hitting Steve with it. "You're kind of a downer lately, you know that? No offense, but that's not really the kind of energy I need to be around right now."

Steve winces. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be so douchey, I promise. Stress, you know?"

"Trust me, I do." Marion shakes her head. "And I wasn't snapping at you or anything. I'm just... tired. Of letting people walk all over me and pretending to enjoy it. Sorry!" She claps a hand over her mouth. "That was dark. Just ignore me." 

Steve puts a hand on her shoulder to stop her walking. "Hey, you okay?" He's learned his lesson about letting personal issues of people he cares about go unchecked.

"I'm fine! Fine. Totally fine." Marion shrugs. "Just friend drama."

Steve lowers his voice, acutely aware of the people passing by them in the hall. "Are they still talking about the party?"

Marion's expression gives it all away.

"Shit." He wasn't really prepared for this. "Okay, how about this? You come outside and eat lunch with me, Nancy, and Jonathan."

"You'd let me join you?" Marion's eyes are shining.

"Yeah, we're friends, aren't we? It's not a big deal." 

Marion launches herself forward, squeezing her arms around him. "Thank you!" She must realize what this looks like, because she backs off quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Anyway. The bell is gonna ring in, like, a second, and my teacher locks us out if we aren't on time. See you at lunch!" 

She gives him a quick wave and goes bopping down the hall to class.

Steve sees too much of himself in this girl. She's the kind of person who believes that smiling through pain will make it go away. Because most of her problems up to this point have been petty, it usually works. And when her world comes crashing down, she realizes how alone she really is.

....Okay. He might be projecting, just a little. Even so, he throws her a lifeline, because it's what he wishes desperately someone would do for him.

The shriek of the bell pierces through chatter, and Steve is forced to sprint to his first period as well, broken toes be damned.

 

Nancy and Jonathan are perched on the roof of the Byers boy's car as Steve drags himself out to the parking lot.

"How was testing?" Nancy calls out.

Steve knocks his head against the side of the car. "You know, if I could actually _control_ my mysterious freaky mind powers, I probably wouldn't be failing all of my classes."

Jonathan coughs. "You'd pull the fire alarm to get extra time for tests."

Steve narrows his eyes. "Maybe so." He hops up to sit beside them, holding the lunch tray filled with questionable substances on his lap. "Have either of you seen Marion?"

Nancy shifts uncomfortably as Jonathan chokes on his milk. "You invited her to sit with us?"

Steve hears wariness in her tone and is suddenly on the defensive. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing!" Nancy says quickly. "But I don't think she likes me very much." 

Steve stares, incredulous at the idea of someone disliking _Nancy Wheeler._ "What do you mean? She invited you to–you know, the party." It still takes him a moment to say those words.

Nancy shrugs, picking at her food. "You tell me. I haven't done anything to her."

"We think she's jealous," Jonathan adds, then wheezes as Nancy elbows him in the ribs. "Ow, Nance, the hell was that for?"

She stares him down, and Jonathan raises an eyebrow. 

Steve watches their brief exchange in mild confusion. They seem to be communicating exclusively through eyebrow-raises.

Finally, Nancy sighs and turns back to Steve. "We think she's jealous because... she likes you, Steve."

Steve nods slowly. "Understandable. I'm quite the catch."

Nancy and Jonathan look at each other again. "You mean you knew?"

"Well, yeah," Steve admits. "I was going to ask her out this week, but then all this shit went down and I figured I'd better not drag her into it."

"Oh," Jonathan says softly. "That's... neat."

"What, you don't like her either?" Even now, Steve is overly concerned with what his friends think of his choices.

"We're just surprised," Nancy interjects. "That's not the type of girl you usually go for anymore, is it?"

"What?" Steve shakes his head. "Marion's not a _type._ She's cool. She's different. Like–"

He freezes. He's stopped himself from saying _like how you and Jonathan are different._ He doesn't know how or when Jonathan clawed his way up to share a space with Nancy in his heart, but he doesn't like it. It's confusing, because he doesn't care for Jonathan the way he does... _did_ care for Nancy. He can't.

Nancy looks stricken, but it's gone in a split second, replaced by her usual closed-mouth smile. "That's sweet."

"If you like her, go for it," Jonathan encourages him. "Don't miss your chance." 

Steve feels his heart twinge at the last part, but buried it down, down, down with all the secrets he keeps on accumulating. 

"If it works out, we're so going on a double date," he jokes.

The couple roll their eyes at him.

"Steve!" Marion's voice rings out across the parking lot. "I'm so sorry I'm late, got held up by–"

"You're fine," Steve assures, patting the roof beside him. "Come sit."

Marion's smile wipes away any doubt he has left.

 

"Holy– God!" Steve gasps and pulls off his shoe. The mild ache he's felt in his broken toes the whole day has become painful, downright excruciating now that he's home with nothing to distract him. The TV is still broken, all the glass swept away, leaving only a black maw where the screen should be.

He strips off his sock and inspects the bandages he'd put on this morning. Joyce has shown him how to properly wrap his toes to keep them from shifting. Everything looks fine, but his entire leg flashes with pain. 

Defeated, Steve flops back so that he's lying on the couch. God, he really needs some ice. 

He's not willing to risk standing up. Steve wallows in self-pity for only a few moments before perking up.

Shit. He's totally got super mind powers now! Getting ice from the freezer shouldn't be that difficult. Rearranging himself to a sitting position, Steve closes his eyes and imagines the freezer opening.

He cracks one eye open. There's no indicative rumble of the door sliding open. Whatever. He just has to focus. Squeezing his eyes shut again, he visualizes a hand opening the freezer, reaching in, and pulling out a bag of ice.

Steve takes another peek. Nothing.

"Come on," he groans out loud. "You activate when I'm upset but not when I'm writhing in pain?"

He curls his toes and instantly regrets it. A long, low wheeze of pain cuts through the silence of his house.

_God, why don't you just break the rest of the damn thing! You're pretty useless either way._ Steve feels the dreaded stinging in his eyes and wipes it away angrily. He's tired of limping around. He's tired of being scared all the time. He's tired of always being dragged into this magic bullshit.

His two options are to either hyperventilate until he tricks his brain into panicking, or just suck it up and walk into the kitchen. 

Steve heaves another dramatic sigh and stands up, hopping to the fridge. But he really _must_ have the worst luck in this dimension, because when he turns, his broken toes catch ever so slightly on the doorway.

"FUCK!" He howls as a stabbing sensation go through both his foot and his head. Losing his balance, Steve toppled over, bracing himself to hit the ground.

He never does.

Instead, he finds himself hovering less than an inch off the ground. He hangs there a good twenty seconds before he feels a tickling at his nose, barely there.

Steve sneezes, and droplets of blood spatter to the ground. He blinks, not quite believing what he's seeing–though at this point he shouldn't even be fazed–and tentatively reaches out a hand to touch the ground.

The moment his fingers make contact, he slips to the floor, head still feeling like it's splitting but otherwise no worse for wear. 

"What," he says, not sure if it's to himself or to anyone who will listen, "the _hell."_

And _that's_ when the freezer goes catapulting outward, ripping off of its track and slamming into the far wall, scattering its contents everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I know this chapter is very inconsistent with my bi-weekly updates. I can’t promise I’ll be able to get back into that flow anytime soon. I’m sorry for that, but I’ve been in a terrible headspace this month.
> 
> On November 7th, a classmate and dear friend took her own life. Words cannot describe the shock and sorrow that her family, friends, and our entire school felt on that day. We still feel it.
> 
> If you’re reading this, and you are considering suicide, please, please, please reach out. Professional therapy is, quite literally, a lifesaver. Please get help. And please remember Destenie Johnson.
> 
>  
> 
> **National Suicide Prevention Lifeline**  
>  1-800-273-8255
> 
> **Crisis Text Line**  
>  Text HOME to 741741


	8. e i g h t

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He lies there in silence for an eternity, until a trembling voice reaches him, frantic and apologetic and furious all at once.

**Year [Redacted], Location A**

_"There is a spy in our midst."_

_"Fuckin' duh."_

_"I don't appreciate your language, Lo-"_

_"Chill, uncle. You're the one who wanted me to come up here and hack into your goons' lives. Hey, you think it's that Madeline chick? Heard she's got a boyfriend who's pretty sus."_

_"Perhaps if you shut up and did your work, you could provide more than a wild guess."_

_"She's pretty hot though, be a shame if it was her."_

_"Logan."_

_"Oh, do you like her? I didn't really peg her as your type..."_

_"Logan."_

_"Ooh, you liiiiiike her!"_

_"Logan!"_

_"..."_

_"...."_

_"If I do a good enough job will you let me see one of your freaks?"_

_"Don't refer to my subjects with such vulgar terms."_

_"Fine, fine. That number one or whatever is super creepy, though. I could hear it screaming all night. You torturing it or something?"_

_"Not that it's any of your concern, but if you must know, the subject is responding poorly to increased dosage of its injections."_

_"Damn. Can't imagine being locked up all day just to get poked by a bunch of creepy guys in scrubs."_

_"If you don't watch your words, you'll be the one in the testing rooms."_

_"As if. Look, let me have one little peek through the cameras and I promise I'll do nothing but be a good lil' noodle and focus on work. "_

_"No."_

_"Please!"_

_"Absolutely not."_

_"Please, Uncle R!"_

_"Logan, for god's sakes shut up!"_

_"Oh, shit, I didn't really mean to make you ma–"_

—

Steve stares at the broken freezer from his crumpled position on the ground. The ice he needs is scattered around the kitchen. When he fell, his cheek pressed into the small puddle of his own blood, and the sticky heat makes him gag.

He blinks.

It only takes a blink to plunge him into darkness as a rotting, aching stench invades his senses. He scrambles to sit up and can't quite adjust his eyes. 

It's cold, mostly, so much so that it nearly overpowers the stench. His teeth are chattering, and he bites down on his lip to stop it. 

This cold. This smell. This evil.

Steve sucks in a shaky breath, not daring to move. This isn't real. None of this can be real.

He knows this place, and he'd hoped to never, ever see it again.

He's back in the Upside Down.

Steve stands quickly as he can, ignoring his searing foot. The atmosphere is sticky and horrible. He looks around, desperate. This is his house. There's the fridge, and the broken freezer, and the counter, though everything is now covered in a sickly green goop. Steve inhales sharply and gags, lungs heavy with the strange air of this dimension.

He doesn't dare call out, aware of what creatures lurk in this world. His nose is still bleeding, and he claps a hand over it quickly. They can smell blood.

_No, no, God, please no,_ he whimpers in his mind.

He hears a growl and bolts upstairs, suddenly painless in his panic. Careening down the hall, he slides into his room, unsure if the thing nearby will give chase. He locks the door behind him, and looks around for something to push against it. He glances at the bed, and the moment he thinks he should try to shove it to the door, it slides across the room.

"Holy shit," Steve says. 

It didn't hurt. He didn't hear a countdown beforehand, or any strange whispers. He controlled the movement effortlessly. Almost like...

Almost like it hadn't been him at all.

More blood drips from his nose, sinking into the now-rotting carpet. 

_Hello again, 001._

And despite his initial horror, a sudden dreadful calm settles over Steve. A soothing aura sinks down into his bones, calling him towards... what? His future? His doom?

"What the hell are you?" he whispers breathlessly.

_You know me._

"No, I don't, actually," he snaps. "Show yourself."

_Humans. So obsessed with this idea of a physical form._

"Then just do something," Steve begs. "Kill me, or let me go, or whatever it is you want, but make it quick, please." Nancy's smiling face flashes in his mind. Jonathan's, too, and the kids'. Hopper and Joyce and Marion....

He can't let this thing get into their world.

_This is what you were meant to do,_ it hisses gently. _Look at all you can do._

Steve looks, and he _sees._

Around him, everything floats. The bed, the picture frames on his dresser, even his own blood is drifting in sudden zero gravity. 

"No," he chokes out. "This isn't me."

Steve knows it's not his doing, but the sensation of control is there. Whatever energy or creature or demon has found him, it's channeling his power like a puppet. Though the thought makes him recoil, there's something tantalizingly beautiful about what he's seeing. Hell, he's never been able to lift something by sheer force of will before. It's always involved him or something he cared about being threatened. An instinctual power, locked down deep beyond his control.

_It could be. You have forgotten, young one. You have forgotten your way and so have forgotten the glory of this realm._

Its boastful tone snaps Steve out of whatever trance he'd been slipping into. "What glory?" Steve spits. "Of killing people?" 

Steve curses his tongue as the entity hisses and slips tightly around him, making his very blood vessels strain.

_You were so much more obedient, little 001,"_ it hisses, _when you even smaller._

"I don't know you!" Steve cries out. "I only came to the Up– here once before!"

_You lie._

The crushing pressure around him loosens.

_No.... no. I was hasty. You have simply forgotten._

Steve slumps to the ground. "You said that before," he coughs weakly. "I haven't forgotten anything. How could I ever forget this place? I see it every night, okay? I couldn't forget if I tried."

_You remember in fragments of what you once were. The human mind was not made to handle so much of my existence._

Steve stares at his hands, refusing to look around him and accept what he's being told, praying for something to snap him out of this. He feels like a five year old, lost and wondering why he's been abandoned. Where are his parents? Why aren't they ever home? If they gave a shit about him, they'd have noticed his foot, noticed his grades, noticed anything that hinted their son was struggling. He just wants his mom to hug him like she did when he was little, and tell him everything would be okay.

_They cannot help you, 001._ The voice hisses.

Steve sobs. "Get out of my head."

_It is not their fault. It is impossible for their fragile sense of reality to understand all that you are._

"I..." Steve chokes, coughs, and feels more tears drip down his face. "I want to be _normal._ I just want to be a normal, dumb kid with a girlfriend like I was before all of this _shit_ happened!"

_Ah, that anger! Now there's something I remember. Astonishing how such a small physical cage could contain so much fury. It almost–_

The invasive voice cuts off with a choked hiss, as if it's been forcibly removed.

The pressure increases again, impossibly so, and Steve can only believe he is dying. Lungs collapsing, bones snapping, whatever force that gave him these powers bending, breaking. A part of him thinks _not yet_ and another part whispers _finally_ , and then he's letting go and giving up and–

A man's voice, distinctly human, but no less terrifying to Steve's pain-addled mind.

_Welcome back, 001._

And Steve wakes up in his own world.

Every inch of his body is screaming, and Steve does the only thing he can think of.

He remembers how El had held his head in her lap and spoken to him without saying a word out loud. He prays that he is strong enough to find the connection himself.

Steve closes his eyes.

"Eleven," he cries out into the void. "Help me. Please, please, help me."

He lies there in silence for an eternity, until a trembling voice reaches him, frantic and apologetic and furious all at once. 

"I am coming, 001."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooo boy! It feels like it’s been a year. Technically it has been. I’m really sorry that I haven’t written in so long, and I know this chapter isn’t very lengthy, but... depression saps your energy, you know? I’ve dealt with a lot in 2018. Involuntary hospitalization, getting used to medication, etc. etc. I’m trying to get back into the writing groove, but only time will tell. I love you guys. It means so much that you take the time to read Countdown, and it warms my heart to know you truly enjoy my work.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments make my day :)


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